


Bad Pup

by Hannigrammatic



Series: Screw it! [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Face Slapping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sassy Will Graham, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/pseuds/Hannigrammatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Should I beat that statement out of you?” Hannibal asks.</p><p>“You’ll do what you want regardless,” Will intones; there’s a hitch in his breath that tells Hannibal all he needs to know.</p><p>“I will indeed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Pup

The sting of the slap has Will Graham clutching his face softly, the force of it causing him to lose his balance momentarily. He lands with a soft _oof_ against the desk in the dim office. 

“Perhaps you’d like to say that again, then,” Hannibal Lecter says loudly.

Will lets go of his reddening cheek and lets his arm fall to his side, attempting to affect a casual lean against the desk behind him. Hannibal, taller, larger, able to hide just how strong and fast he is with the comfortable cut of his three-piece suit, calmly wipes his hair off of his forehead where it’d come out of place a moment before.

“I said ‘you’re wrong’,” Will spits out.

He isn’t in the mood to roll over like one of his dogs. He doesn’t feel like preening tonight. The younger man spent a lot of time beneath Hannibal, figuratively and literally, crushed beneath the dominance of a physically bigger man and his even larger capability to mentally manipulate and situate. Will Graham loves his dogs, but he does not love being one.

“That’s how it’s going to be, is it?” Hannibal’s accent is stronger when he is angry, Will realizes absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” the younger man deadpans.

Hannibal, for his part, is not as angry as he appears to be on the outside. Until that very moment. Every situation is a game for him, in some manner. With Will, it is a more well-loved game, or a dog-eared copy of a favorite book. He enjoys picking Will up often. But the addition of his softly rolled eyes and the tone that accompanies the single word ‘yeah’, is crossing a line the older man does not enjoy Will Graham being near, let alone toeing.

The strength behind the second slap bangs Will against the desk again, and the wood shrieks slightly as it drags across the ground. Both cheeks red, the younger man steadies himself impressively fast and crosses his shaking arms over his chest as he squares up stubbornly against the bigger man. 

“Should I beat that statement out of you?” Hannibal asks.

“You’ll do what you want regardless,” Will intones; there’s a hitch in his breath that tells Hannibal all he needs to know.

“I will indeed.”

Hannibal is sure to show a bit of his teeth as he talks now, sure to show Will his anger clenching them tight between words. Will feels his insides liquefy but remains stubborn, meeting those dark eyes with his own wide blue ones. The room is silent save for their breathing, one man in anger, the other in excited fear. This game isn’t well-loved only by Hannibal, after all.

“Remove your clothes, Will.”

The command is bit out as the anger ebbs out of Hannibal. He’s unsure sometimes if Will pushing him is intentional, but he knows what cues to look for, knows what scent to pick up on. Regardless, Will has been exceptionally rude tonight, and whether or not he knows that, Hannibal doesn’t actually care. 

“Make me,” Will grumbles with both his eyebrows raised to suggest that yes, he knows just how rude he’s being.

It’s no surprise that Will finds his face slammed into the desk behind him, bent over it like a naughty schoolkid in those kinky magazines he used to sneak looks at when he was younger. He supposes this situation is similar enough. _Fuck,_ Will thinks. _Maybe a little too much_. He wonders vaguely if Hannibal is going to spank him, too.

Will’s thoughts are interrupted by his clothes literally being torn from him. The breaking seams and popping buttons herald the arrival of cool night air from the open office window. Not even his boxers are spared. Suddenly Will wonders if perhaps he has played his part too far -however, the fear that rises at that thought turns into excitement and further into arousal as he is reminded again just how strong the other man is. Hannibal Lecter is no simple teacher.

“Very rude, my little pup,” Hannibal whispers against his ear.

The bigger man is pressed up against his bent body, nuzzling against his neck and ear, one big hand grasping his curled dark hair to hold his face against the desk. The rest of his body serves to hold Will sturdily in place. Again, the room is silent, though this time the younger man is panting just slightly. He’s far enough across the desk that his feet just barely touch the floor, and his legs quiver. With a shift Will feels with his entire body, Hannibal straightens his upper body to grasp the younger man by the hip hard with one hand, the other still buried in his hair to hold him down.

“I will give you one opportunity to recant your behavior,” the man says around a smirk that Will can hear and not see.

Will lets out a whine instead, feet straining toes against the floor, hands gripping the edge of the desk before him for more leverage. He’d intended to let out some biting remark, because why not. He can feel the heat and size of Hannibal’s cock pressing against his naked ass, though. And that large hand biting a soft bruise into his hip serves to distract him further.

“Nothing to say now, William?”

“No.”

Hannibal smirks and presses his groin against Will’s backside, grinding just slightly against the vulnerable split of his body. He removes his hand from Will’s curls, confident enough that the slighter man will retain his position sufficiently, and rolls up his sleeves. He doesn't take his eyes off the pretty blush staining Will’s cheeks as the profiler attempts to avoid looking back, straining his ears instead.

“Perhaps I ought to remind you who you are talking to. You seem to have let it escape your mind this evening.”

Will closes his eyes and bites his lip hard. He is done toeing the line, though other than pressing him against the table and the two still stinging slaps decorating his cheeks, Hannibal has been rather tame despite his words. True, the teasing press against his asshole is slowly driving all thought from Will’s skull, as he imagines several scenarios that all involve him biting his lip bleeding or screaming flat out, but...he almost wonders if he hasn’t employed enough sassiness tonight to get what he is craving. _God_ , he thinks in frustration. _I can’t even get myself punished right, apparently_.

His self-deprecating thoughts are interrupted by the sudden cold that accompanies the loss of Hannibal’s body. Will jolts into the present and barely manages to bite off the whine that comes to him, shivering instead. He tries to look over his shoulder to investigate, and Hannibal’s hand presses into the back of his neck just then -and it isn’t long after that the first open-handed smack lands against his right asscheek painfully. Will strains against the desk as his breath rushes out of him. The hit had been too close to his balls to be pleasurable, though not close enough to be a turn off, either.

“What happens when the pup is bad, Will?” Hannibal’s voice is a growl and Will _knows_ the older man’s mouth is open in a snarl of delight.

“He gets punished,” Will bites out.

“Yes, he does. And this pup has been bad tonight, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has,” And Will shouts this time as another smack is rained down on his backside.

It’s harder this time, landing on his left asscheek. Another paints his right thigh red quickly, and Will is practically shaking at how scandalous Hannibal’s hand smacking against his flesh so forcefully sounds. It is not dissimilar to the sound Will is most accustomed to when bent over any surface. He doesn’t bite his lip on the next moan that leaves him in a gust as Hannibal’s next smack brings his hand hard against Will’s asshole. It stays there after, two fingers pressing harshly into his perineum, thumb dancing along the tight rim of his entrance. It’s all Will can do not to arch into that strong, capable hand.

Hannibal’s hair is no longer slicked back, falling across his forehead again with his movements. Sweat beads his brow just slightly as his own body responds to the squirming, gasping, and whining thing sprawled on his desk. It strikes him that despite having had Will on this very desk before, the sight is never a dull one. It is made more beautiful by the actions preceding it, of course, as Hannibal cannot ever deny his pup anything, especially regarding his lascivious need for punishment in practically any situation. Will Graham is a sassy man, but Hannibal Lecter has found quite quickly that it’s just another part of the younger man that he veritably worships.

Gaze softening, Hannibal lets his grip on Will deplete, no longer holding him in place at the neck now. Instead, his thumb sinking deeper slightly, he presses Will in place in an entirely intimate manner instead, fingers sliding up further to press against the younger man’s balls. Will’s breathing pitches higher and faster the deeper that wide thumb insinuates itself.

“It’s a shame, really,” Hannibal murmurs.

“Wha- what is?” Will stutters.

The older man removes his hand efficiently, stroking slightly over the reddened cheeks of Will’s ass. He stands up and steps away from Will’s body cast upon his desk and unrolls his sleeves. Patting his hair back into place, sparing once glance at the torn clothes rained upon the floor, Hannibal Lecter walks away primly.

“You can change into your spare clothes in the bathroom,” the man says before he leaves the room entirely.

Will fights to catch his breath, and it is difficult. He should have known. Standing is difficult too. His legs feel like jelly and his body won’t stop quivering. Somewhere in the building, Hannibal is probably smirking still, and Will bites his lip hard enough to hurt, almost enough to bleed. As he retrieves his spare clothes from under the spacious sink in the bathroom, shrugging into the shirt and dancing delicately into pants, Will Graham lets a smirk come onto his own features.

 _Apparently_ , he thinks. _I didn’t misbehave quite enough._

Fini

**Author's Note:**

> Interestingly enough, another dream inspired this. Not sure why my brain is being quite so cooperative lately, but who am I to complain?
> 
> Oh and...I enjoy teasing just as much as these two bastards do. Eventually I will write an actual sex scene


End file.
